Well, I’ll be honest with you—I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be a very legitimate statement if I said that every little bit of community service I’ve ever done has necessarily changed my life. Now I don’t mean that in a bad way; I mean, I genuinely feel great about helping someone out other than myself whenever I can. As cliché as it sounds, there truly is a sense of accomplishment and making a difference when you’ve done something substantial for someone other than yourself. But in reality—look at it this way: How many of us have donated a can of baked beans or Campbell’s chicken soup, and then three weeks later thought, “Hey, I wonder who got that can of baked beans or Campbell’s soup I donated?”

            I’ve wondered about why little things like that seem to be forgotten, simply pushed away to the back of our minds like the chores of yesterday. And I think it must be because they’re so impersonal. That’s why I’d like to talk to you about all the times I’ve gone (and continue to go) to nursing homes to play music for the elderly. It may not seem like much, but that kind of experience is, in my opinion, a whole lot more meaningful and personal than a food drive.

I’m pretty sure the first time I ever went was in seventh grade. I’m not going to lie—that first time, I was pretty nervous. At the time I was a lot shyer than I am now. I wasn’t always great at meeting new people, and always sort of hung back until someone introduced me. Not only that, but I honestly didn’t really have a whole lot of experience interacting with the old folk. I have a small family; my mom’s mom passed away before I was born, her dad shortly after; my dad’s dad was diagnosed with cancer when I was a toddler and passed when I was five, so I was too young to really understand what had happened. That left my grandma on my dad’s side, and we are closer now—but in previous years before my parents got divorced, there were constant tensions between the two sides and it was tough not to be able to develop the same bond with her that a lot of other girls my age had with their grandmothers. Anyway, point being that I hadn’t had much exposure to being with the elderly.

As nervous as I was, I tried to look as confident as could be. I arrived at East Hill Woods, an assisted living home in my hometown, and met with the recreation director Mrs. Galgano once more. She had been an amazing resource to me—I had spoken with her on the phone and met with her previously as part of a Girl Scout service project. I had conducted a small interview, learned about her career, and was exposed to some of the different activities and programs that she put together for the residents in the recreation department.

But now, today, it was my turn. I was about to experience what being there for the elderly was really all about, instead of just hearing about it secondhand from someone else. After also interviewing and chatting with a music therapist, I had designed, organized, and was about to conduct a music therapy program for the residents! My program included not only some of my classmates and I performing pieces, but I also integrated music therapy by bringing in some small percussion instruments (like tambourines, little drums, and such) and objects that could get the residents involved, and arranged pieces so that they could play along with us and just join in the fun.

Well, I got there and sure enough Mrs. Galgano was there waiting for me. My friends and I set up our instruments in a little room and when the residents were ready for us, they came in. And, like I said, I was still a bit nervous. Before we began playing as they were still being wheeled in on their wheelchairs, my mom encouraged me to go up to some and welcome them and give them a copy of the program I had made. Mustering my shyness up, I went up to one man and said hello and asked if he would like a program. I got little response; I wasn’t sure that he could hear me. I didn’t really know what to do— so I just smiled and told him to enjoy the show, and went on to a few more people. My program hadn’t even started yet, and already I was encountering something I hadn’t planned on. Should I try to talk to them? Was it worth the effort? Could they even understand me? Once the program got started, some of the residents talked or mumbled the whole time; some ignored the instruments in their hands; some didn’t even seem to acknowledge my presence.

Then again, I guess I really couldn’t expect them to. I mean, that wasn’t the point, I realized. All I could do was hope that maybe they’d enjoy my playing music for them and bringing something I love into their lives.

            Sure enough, there are always those few who do far more than simply acknowledge my presence. A lot of them loved the program, and I remember there was one little old lady who was so sweet—she knew every song, and sang along, and was banging her tambourine away like she was the star of the show. I had to smile. I thought, you know, this is really amazing. Music can bring out the true spirit of a little soul like that.

Since then, I have grown to really love going to share my love for music with the elderly. It’s amazing just how much you learn from them and just how much joy you receive in knowing that they love to see you come and spend your time with them. As soon as they see me enter the room, even if they don’t know what the heck I’m doing there at first—their faces just light up and they become youngsters again. It’s truly incredible. I mean, music is something I have passion for, something that, as someone once told me, “washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.” And to be able to share that with someone else, to be able to bring just the smallest bit of joy to all these people even when their world seems dim—that really is a truly incredible feeling.